


Go off on my own (Find someone right beside me)

by underscore65



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clarke finds a kid, Clarke goes off on her own, Kid Fic, Post Season 2, slight minor character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 14:41:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3654192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underscore65/pseuds/underscore65
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke turned away from Camp Jaha, away from the Skaikru, away from Bellamy and she walked.</p><p> </p><p>Clarke finds herself walking and walking caught up in herself, until something stops her, something she cant walk past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go off on my own (Find someone right beside me)

 

Clarke turned away from Camp Jaha, away from the Skaikru, away from Bellamy and she walked.

 

She walked and walked and walked.

 

Stopping briefly for sleeps, or finding berries to eat. Never still for too long though, in case the memories were to catch up with her, in case she would remember.

 

Early on she found it was easier to sleep when she was fully exhausted, so that’s what she did. Walked until she was so tired, not even her dreams could be haunted, only to wake up and keep walking.

 

Water was easy; most of the time she walked along a creek, it flowing enough she didn’t have to worry about too many diseases. Clarke didn’t hide as she walked, not fearing the grounders, the animals, anything. To fear you had to feel.

 

As the days drew on and became colder, she managed to kill a deer, its unusually thicker coat becoming a welcome comfort on cold night and wet days.

 

And so Clarke walked and walked and walked. She lost count of days, of nights, of weeks. Nothing broke her out of her stupor, nothing that was, until she heard the crying,

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

At first she thought she had imagined it. How often could she hear them calling out to her as she walked, the Mountain Men, the warriors from the bridge, Finn, Wells, the others. All calling out to her, some angry, some disappointed, all not happy with her actions, just as she wasn’t happy.

 

But this cry was different. It was young, much younger than she would have thought able to imagine (not really having much to do with young babies before).

Clarke found herself deviating from the path she was on beside the almost frozen over creek. She stumbled up the bank, almost tripping over a few times, making her way towards the crying.

 

She stopped a few feet back and took in the site before her.

 

The larger body (of maybe a man?) grounder was slumped over against a tree, the blood pouring from his head and on the rocks around him made it clear he had stumbled and knocked his head. Clarke knew how dangerous those could be especially in this cold.   

 

 She made her way closer, slowly trying not to surprise the Grounder (she didn’t think any of them lived this far away, Clarke tried to think back on the map Lexa had, before she blocked that thought out).

 

Once she was close enough Clarke could see the child in his arms. It was big, yet small. Bigger than she expected for the type of noise it was making, smaller than she expected for the amount of noise it was making.

 

Slowly she extended her hand out to try and feel for the Grounders pulse, and this action startled him to consciousness (which incidentally startled her to fall back on her ass pulling her hand away quickly trying to raise them in a non-threating way).

 

The Grounders eyes were glazed over, trying to focus on her shape but clearly not able to.

He moved his mouth trying to find words that were obviously hard; so Clarke pulled out the water skin lying next to him and gave him a mouthful.

‘ _Klark heda Kom Skaikru?_ ’ he whispered out reaching out slightly, an almost smile coming over his face.

 

He broke off into more words that Clarke wouldn’t make out, some sounded Trigedasleng but most of it just seemed to be rambling in his disoriented state.

 

Instead Clarke shook her head. ‘I can’t understand you.’ She said softly back. The man’s eyes showed some reaction to her words and he obviously understood something because he began to try and speak English for her.

 

‘Angel of Death…. come to take me…. protect her… use your strength… make her strong… love Asha’ He began to move his arms, unfolding them from his chest where Clarke could see the child curled up better, her body swaddled in clothes. He started to push the child into her arms, so she instinctively manoeuvred it, trying to make it comfortable while supporting all the areas her mother always spoke about.

 

By the time the child was settled in her grasp, the man had stopped moving again, and this time Clarke couldn’t find a pulse.

 

And it was there in that little clearing clutching the child in front of the dead man she could only assume was its father that Clarke cried for the first time in weeks.

 

Clark was still for a few hours (or maybe it was less than one), but the child began to cry again and she knew she had to move on. Keep walking, while somehow supporting this child, because no way in hell was she going to be responsible for the death of another kid (she blocked out the faces that flashed before her eyes).

 

Bowing slightly before the man before whispering ‘ _Yu gonplei ste odon’,_ Clark began to go through his belongings.

 

His thick jacket was quickly placed over her own shoulders, while the skin she had been using was wrapped around the child, (Asha, Clarke thought to herself). The man had a sack of provisions, dried meat and some berries plus the water skin that she took. Also a combination of herbs in a pouch that upon further inspection she figured were for the child.

 

The knife from his boot went into her own, and the sword from his back was placed into the pack. A necklace that had been around his neck was pulled off; she inspected the charm and smiled at the transparency of the rock, before also putting it into the bag, wanting to have something for Asha to remember her father.

 

Knowing that digging a grave would be too much work, Clark quickly set about wrapping the man as best she could before arranging his body more comfortable against the tree. A passer-by would almost think him sleeping, at least at the current time.

 

Pulling out her old dagger she began to carve in to the tree above him with crude penmanship the words.

 

‘FATHER OF ASHA

NOW WARM AGAIN’

 

(Clarke was pretty sure no one would ever find the message, and one day the tree would die, or grow over the message, but she liked to think that he wasn’t forgotten so quickly).

 

Before she gathered all her new belongings and began to walk again.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Travelling with a baby was difficult.

 

Asha didn’t seem to cry often, but when she did it was loud and strong. By now Clarke was certain there were no predators around, either that or they were scared of the terrifying noises coming from something so small.

 

Clarke’s routine didn’t change much. She still walked most of the time, but was being forced to take longer breaks and the nights lasted longer and the days grew colder. Caring for the child took extra work too.

 

The cloth that had covered her was soiled often, so stops in the river to clean it frequently were required. She had been feeding the child the herbs mixed in water (after trying it herself of course and remembering the flavours as something Nyko had once showed her). Clarke found herself often talking to Asha, telling stories from her own childhood, singing songs she remembered, talking about the friends back at Camp Jaha (never touching on the topics that seemed burned into her brain), it had been so long since she had someone to talk to, (judging from the weather about 2 months), and so she found Asha a captive audience, who was ready to gurgle along at the right moments.

 

There were times when she wished her mother was there, or her father, or even Bellamy who had at least raised a child before, and those thoughts just brought painful memories so she tried to keep them away.

 

Judging from her size and development (she was a grabber and liked to hold things before they ultimately went into her mouth) Clarke estimated Asha’s age to be around 6 months. She had good upper body strength and the times that Clarke had made camp with a fire to warm the ground, Asha had been eager to crawl/roll around (although she hated touching the cold ground, which Clarke could understand).

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

About two weeks into to walking with Asha (it was somehow easier to keep track of time and not loose herself with a child), Clarke spotted a strange shape on the horizon.

 

Getting closer she could see it was a building, or rather the beginnings of a town. Venturing closer still, Clarke could feel her excitement rise (a feeling she had not had in a LONG time).

 

Buildings, so many buildings. All run down obviously from lack of use and wether, but still buildings. Large ones and small ones close some close together and some spread out. It looked just like the old towns they had had in the books on the ark. All the damage seemed to be natural as well, as if the grounders had not found this place, which Clarke took as a sign of how far she had travelled. (Part of her wondered if it was safe, but there were actually a bit more wildlife here than in the forest for the last few days so she wasn’t overly worried).

 

And Clarke knew that there would have to be something of use around here somewhere.

 

 

It took a long time, and yet no time at all to find what she was looking for. She had remembered reading about some of the old grounders who had stocked up their basements with supplies before the war, and based on the lack of dead bodies around, Clarke had summarised that this had been one of the towns to be abandoned. So she had meticulously went through each of the buildings looking for any supplies that she might need.

 

Her jackpot had come in the backyard of one of the bigger houses. Down the back of the garden next to a small shack filled with rusted metal bits was a trapdoor.

 

It took a while for her to build up the courage to open the door (it may have been pressurised she assumed but she had to hack at the metal plate with an axe she had found while Asha sat on the ground a few feet away gurgling happily at the noises she was making), and then to venture down the ladder using a gas lantern she had found in the shack to light their way down.

 

But there was no corpses, no bones, nothing but a neatly stacked barely disturbed store of all the things Clarke still wished for on this world.

 

Blankets, pillows and other cloths were seemingly undisturbed by bugs or bacteria (probably because of the seal Clarke thought to herself?). Tins and tins of food stuff lined the walls, all of which she was sceptical (it had to be at least 130 yrs old she thought), bags of what on closer inspection revealed to be powered milk (a true blessing she thought looking at Asha), Bottles of liquor lined a wall, but Clarke quickly looked past them (as she did with the weapons stacked in a corner). Condiments covered a shelf and Clark knew should have fun discovering what each one did.

Large jugs of water were in a corner as well as tins almost as big as her. (She cracked one open and it was full of rice)

Medical equipment, bandages, needles, antiseptic (Clarke almost wept when she saw the cotton swabs, just because they reminded her of her mother).

 

It was there, in that bunker underground that Clarke first looked at Asha and thought they both had a strong chance of making it. And that gave her hope.

 

 

 

Clarke ended up making camp in one of the bigger rooms of the house the basement was attached to (not wanting to spend more time in the enclosed underground room than possible), making sure to sweep out any dirt, glass and unwanted animals. She brought in plenty of wood for the fire, as well as more blankets than necessary. The house had some old furniture that was rotten that she broke up first to use in the fire place. She bought up enough food and water to at least last her a week, just in case a storm hit and she was stuck inside.

 

Clarke constructed a doll out of some straw for Asha to play with, a gift for the new part of their life together. It was odd to go form having nothing to being surrounded with more than she could bear (feelings of guilt for those back at the Camp Jaha flared up, but she tried to push them down).

 

That night she slept comfortable, Curled around Asha surrounded with soft blanket sand pillows, her stomach full and content with a merry fire blazing, and Clarke thought that if this was the best that it got then that would be enough.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Clarke settled into a routine fairly quickly. Explore the town, check for supplies, and entertain Asha (who had begun to, begin to speak with the sounds that she was making).

 

As Clarke had predicted, not long after arriving, a nasty snow storm hit. She bunkered down in the room she had water proofed though tarps with Asha, glad for her forward thinking. It was there and then that she began to draw again, with some paper and lead pencils she had found. It had been so long since her hands had been used to create but Clarke settled back into it relatively easy, glad to have something to do while stuck in the room.

The pictures started out innocent and simple enough. A flower she had seen; the way the trees melded together over her head as she had walked; the luminescent butterflies. Her drawings of what she had hoped earth would look like, next to what she had seen. Asha was comfortable to sit on her lap while she drew to a point, then she would get bored and want to be entertained again, which Clarke had no problem doing. She drew the buildings she had seen, how they looked now and how she thought they may have looked back when they were cared for and someone lived here.

 

Once she was more confident in her ability she began sketching faces.

 

Her mother came first, but not this older, harder Abby, the mother she remembered from her childhood, filled with smiles for her and her dad. Her dad was next, and Clarke hadn’t looked back at the family portrait she had drawn of the three of them since she had stuffed it in the back of her sketchbook, with tears in her eyes for a simpler happier time.

 

More people filled the pages, Wells, Finn, Bellamy, Octavia, Raven, Monty, Jasper, Lexa, even Murphy. On the back of each face she wrote their story. Or at least what she knew of their story.

 

She drew the dropship in its crashed state, and started the story of the return to earth from the sky. She chronicled all of what had happened, knowing it could be done better but glad that it was getting done at all.

She drew grounders and mountain men and reapers. Soft smiles on warriors and cruel smirks on ‘civilised’ beings.

 

So caught up in her drawings and writings that she didn’t even notice the storm had stopped and the sun was peeking out to help clear some snow until she realised they were almost out of water.

 

She looked at Asha, where she was curled up on the rug seemingly chatting to the doll Clarke had made out of straw for her. Asha was the main source of Clarkes drawings. She seemed to be growing everyday so Clarke felt the need to do a new drawing every day. Pictures of Asha lying on her tummy head up eyes bright; Pictures of Asha pulling herself up on walls and on Clarke; Pictures of Asha sleeping, her face innocent and sweet.

 

Once Clarke was free to go outside again her drawing was limited, only doing a few hours a night while Asha was a sleep to stop herself from getting too caught up in the past.

Clarke explored further, and noticed the warming wether with a smile. She found a map of the local area in another bunker and was able to piece together where she was in relation to Camp Jaha reasonably well (Mt Weather was marked on most maps she found which was tough, but easier than it would have been a month ago).Turns out she was a lot further south than originally thought.

 

By the time Spring was fully there, Clarke knew that something had to change. Her original reasons for leaving camp were no longer valid enough to encourage her stay away. 4 months of separation had been enough. Asha was quickly approaching her first year and Clarke wanted it to be spent back at Camp, where Asha could have it celebrated more than just one.

 

So Clarke plotted a month journey (she hopped) gathered what she could carry (which was becoming increasingly difficult with a bigger child), making sure to grab the map so she could find her way back to this place and hopefully bring all of its bounty to the camp, and began her trek back to camp. Back to other people.

 

 

 

 

Back to her family and friends, hopefully more healed than when she had left them.

 

 


End file.
